


'Tween Pavement and Stars

by glockenspielium



Category: Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3188582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about them, it always has been. Even from the very beginning, but sometimes she forgets to remember that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Tween Pavement and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> For the FANFICTFIGHTERS fortnightly prompts (sorry it's so late!)

_There was a time, before it all. Before she learnt of her duty, brightening up the world, one nursery at a time. A time before magic and talking umbrellas and flying and always forever, before it all, she was a little girl._

_But sometimes she forgets._

She finds him in the park, of course. Where else would he be in the early hours of the evening, when there's warm chestnuts to sell. His fingertips are slightly burnt, her hands are small and delicate-looking; but they handle the nuts with ease, biting into each one with perfect teeth as if she's never tasted anything as sweet. When he packs up and starts to walk away, she joins him and he doesn't mind one bit. Her name sounds like a treat across his lips, and she chuckles as he repeats it with every possible variation of emphasis, only to return the favour to his name. They've made it all the way up to the rooftops before he remembers to ask if she wanted to join him. The boys don't mind, of course, there's food enough for everyone if you try, and a new face always fills them far better than any old bread could. She pulls two fresh plums from the pocket of her long red coat, a true magician with an audience in wonder. One finger pushes shut his dropped jaw, another pries apart the fruit so that they all have a taste. He didn't ever need to ask if she wanted to stay.

It becomes a pattern, of sorts. He heads out to jobs, old and new, and she comes with him. Sometimes she just watches, alternating between tutting quietly under her breath and grinning at him from behind warm brown eyes. She somehow always finds tasks to do, as she does, cleaning and washing, and somehow usually ends up better paid than he does, but they share it all in the end so it hardly matters. The city is theirs, every lane and building familiar to their quick feet and clever minds. Sometimes people are cruel, sometimes they share their food and fire, but in the end, it's really just them; and (of course) the chimney sweeps. 

One night he asks her about it. Where she was before, what she did, who she met. His stories are endless gifts to whoever stood close enough to listen, but hers are always a masterpiece. He hadn't expected her to cry. She's far away from home and that's all he can make out. He doesn't know if it's proper, or right, but he holds her as tightly as he can, trying not to worry about the stains he's making, muttering quiet nonsense until she's at peace.

Sometimes they get a lucky break. The family he's cleaning for set him out a small lunch, before they head off for the day. It's not much- a few cucumber sandwiches and some watery lemonade, but such a treat could not be wasted on him alone. He calls over the nearest bird and sends out the message. His work is never short, but today he throws the cloth down with haste and cleans with a renewed vigour. She comes nearly an hour later, somehow choosing the exact moment he finishes up the last chimney. A single raised eyebrow sends him off to wash his hands and face, and when he returns the table is laid and they each have several tiny triangles of sandwich and a small tumbler of lemonade. They toast their good fortune, their friendship, and sip happily, comfortably reclining in covered armchairs.

She's gone for three nights. The boys are sitting with tired backs against warm bricks, watching the rising smoke form vague grey animals against the black clouds above. Her skirts ruffle slightly as they all make room for her in the first row seats. She doesn't say anything. He doesn't ask. It's only after the others have dozed off that they walk together a while, as they've come to do, hands swinging and occasionally brushing against one another. He tells her about his jobs, the chimney cleaning ones and the ones in between. He was shining shoes outside a fancy tailors until the owner had realised and run out, brandishing a thick leather belt, but he was always too quick to be caught. He had found a small band playing at the park and a few pennies came from dancing haplessly to the music. He demonstrates for her, right there between the soot and bricks, arms and legs flailing about in the cold her, her giggles floating over the rooftops as the moves got more and more ridiculous. When she takes his hand, he doesn't protest. He blushes furiously as she places his other hand on her waist, but keeps his head tall and 'dignified-like', and with a firm grin and a twinkle in her eye, she spins them slowly across the dark sky.

There's a rare patch of sunshine streaked across the park, summoning all Londoners out to catch the warmth while they can. The pathways are filled with bustles of families, children tugging kites behind them, couples walking slowly together; but they don't mind. They've walked this same way every week since the first, through snow or hail or storm, and he's counted each one. Little does he know, so has she. Which only makes this harder. He's telling her about one of the small birds perched on a nearby tree. It's family has lived here as long as he can remember and it's a beautiful tale, but it's only making it harder for her to say what needs to be said, ever word from his mouth compelling her to never speak again. Perhaps she should have said something before kissing him on the cheek, but it only seemed appropriate. This is goodbye after all. Maybe she expected him to be more upset, not that she wanted him to be, but he is more wise than most, even she, could possibly know. He's seen a lot of the world. He knows she has to go. But, unlike her, he also knows that she'll come back. He kisses her in back, on the back of her hand, back where they first met. Everything has changed, and they wouldn't have if any other way. She smiles, a small, secret smile, just for him. And then she turns and walks away, chin held high and a new umbrella firmly grasped between her hands.

_There was a time, before it all. She was just like him, and together they were magical. But that was before talking the children and tape measures and jobs, when she was just a little girl. It was so very long ago._

_But he'll never forget._


End file.
